


Scars

by Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Coffee, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Graphic Depictions of Torture, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jon Irenicus Is His Own Warning, Major liberties taken with the shadowdancer rogue subclass, Nightmares, Off-screen Character Death, Post-SoA pre-ToB, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quoting fantasy Edgar Alan Poe, Recovery, Relationship Study, Scars, Sharing a Bed, most of them are a reflection of Neira's mental state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 17:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16727997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus/pseuds/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus
Summary: Each one of Neira's companions has left Irenicus's dungeon with scars of their own.





	1. Chapter 1

_Pain._

_Pain._

_Agony._

_Knives digging into her flesh._

**_"Interesting."_ **

_A voice colder than the knives, colder than death._

_Lightning surging through her body as he sends another spell her way, watching her twitch and writhe against the restraints._

**_"You're a resilient one, godchild."_ **

_It's too much. She desperately wants to pass out, but he told her that the liquid he injected into her veins would keep her awake throughout the procedure._

_No respite. No salvation._

_Only pain._

~~~

Neira awoke with a gasp, pale skin glistening with sweat in the darkness of her room, lit only by the moonlight falling through the window.

She scanned her surroundings, eyes darting from side to side like those of a feral animal.

Worn furniture, a desk drowning in bones and loose papers, black clothes draped over a chair, her trusty claws resting on the nightstand next to her, always within reach.

Her room in _"The Copper Coronet."_

Safety.

It was nothing but a dream.

She untangled herself from the sheets and stood up shakily, the floorboards freezing under her bare feet. Shadows curled around her protectively, soothingly as she threw on the first shirt and trousers she could find, the uncountable scars vanishing beneath the black fabric. She didn't bother with shoes. 

Another shadow reached towards her to wipe a tear she didn't even realise she had shed.  Darkness always looked after its own, offered comfort and protection where light would bring nothing but pain and ridicule.

Silent like death, she left her room and, slipping into the shadows, made her way through the corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the late hour, Neira could hear voices from downstairs: laughter, drinking songs, an occasional sound of retching - nothing unusual, so she tuned it out, approaching the first door.

"You look horrible," Viconia remarked upon opening. The room behind her was dark but the owner herself was fully clothed, each wrinkle smoothened down and not a hair out of place. Darned elves and their meditation.

"I'm aware," Neira replied. "Another nightmare; may I come in?"

"Of course."

They didn't bother with lamps or candles, needing no light to feel at ease.

Viconia has healed well, Neira thought, squinting in the darkness to look for the familiar scars. They were difficult to find even in full light unless one knew where to look. If only hers were the same.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Viconia cleared her throat and said something unexpected:

"Thank you for saving me back then."

Neira quirked her head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. 

"You're welcome," she replied, genuinely perplexed. "Why would we not?"

Viconia shrugged, looking away and revealing a long scar running from below her ear all the way down her neck. 

"Because it would have been easier to leave me behind as a diversion," she replied, turning her holy symbol in her hands absentmindedly. "I'm a drow - I don't belong in the Surface world."

Oh father almighty, there it was again. Not for the first time, Neira wanted to find every single person who made her friend think that way and destroy them.

"Vico," she nudged her gently. "Hey, look at me."

Slowly but surely, Viconia complied.

"You being a drow doesn't matter to any of us; just because your fleshsuit is darker than somebody else's and you get a bad rep for it doesn't make it okay to leave you behind." Neira bit her lip carefully, minding her now sharp teeth. Gods, she was bad at this whole emotion thing. "You're one of my best friends and I wouldn't trade you for anyone. If you were the one taken to Spellhold, I'd fight tooth and claw to get you out just like I... Just like we did for Imoen and Xzar. We're a team," she tried a smile. "We stick together."

Viconia regarded her in silence for a couple of moments, expression unreadable. Eventually, she smiled. It was a hesitant smile, like a frightened animal peeking out of its warren. Vulnerable.

"Thank you," she said, voice just a little choked up. "I... I will try to believe you."

Neira internally sighed with relief. Another tiny step on the road to acceptance. "Anytime. Sorry, I'd hug you but I'm..."

"Not in a touching mood?" 

She shuddered at the memory of Irenicus's hands all over her skin. As soon as they had left the dungeon and found an inn, she had scrubbed her entire body until her skin was red and bleeding where she accidentally tore off some scabs.

"Not in a touching mood."

An understanding nod; Viconia was wise beyond her years even as an elf, having saved all their asses more than once not only with her healing.

"Want a spell to protect you from nightmares?" she asked, holding up her holy symbol. "It works for me." 

Although she wasn't a fan of Shar, Neira nodded gratefully. Sure, the goddess was technically future competition, but she was willing to put her pride aside for a bit if it meant getting a good night's rest. 

The blessing felt like warm water washing over her, releasing just a bit of the tension pent up in her bones. 

"You're what keeps us all sane," she sighed, earning a chuckle.

Viconia put away her holy symbol, her smile a bit braver, encouraged by praise and humour. 

"And alive," she added, having indeed saved their lives more times than there were stars in the sky or candy in Imoen's seemingly bottomless pockets. "Feeling better, then?"

Neira nodded gratefully. "Much. What about you, though?"

A shrug.

"Well, let me know if you need anything, be it conversation or some racist fucker you want disposed of."

With that, she slipped back into the shadows and left as noiselessly as she came.


	3. Chapter 3

As she walked down the corridor, having left Viconia to her reverie, Neira couldn't hold back a wince as she drifted past Korgan's room; the dwarf's snoring was loud enough to wake the dead.

Speaking of whom, Kagain never snored.

She waved the thought away, but it was too late; memories burst forward like water out of a broken dam.

Kagain slept on his back under two blankets and liked beef stew. He spoke eloquently and cursed rarely. He talked her out of a panic attack in Cloakwood once and always offered advice no matter what shit they were knee-deep in at the moment. He was like a father she never had but one she desperately wanted.

Korgan wasn't Kagain.

Kagain was dead.

_Dead._

She liked to think that they gave him a worthy funeral, one he would have liked if he were to see it. There were flowers, a priest of Tymora who gave a decent enough speech, and a tombstone in a more respectable area of the graveyard district.

Still, it was not what he deserved.

He didn't deserve to die from the hand of a megalomaniac son of a bitch and come to rest in a mostly human-populated city. No, Kagain deserved to die after a long and luxury-laden life, surrounded by friends and family, heirs to his magnificent fortune. His funeral should have been a massive ceremony, the casket ornate and engraved with gold and dwarven runes. He should have rested among his ancestors, in the mountains where he belonged.

He deserved so much more than they gave him.

Perhaps, Neira mused as she leaned against the wall, it would have been better for their meeting to have never happened in the first place.

Korgan wasn't Kagain. He was only with them because they needed a fighter. 

Korgan existed only to be used and discarded. He wasn't a father figure. He wasn't a source of comfort. He wasn't a friend.

Her friend was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Kagain gets no love from the fandom.


	4. Chapter 4

Swallowing down a ball of bitter sorrow, Neira forced herself to move past Korgan's door and towards Imoen's.

Her Imoen.

Her precious little sister.

Imoen threw the door open before she had the chance to knock, her bright smile lighting up the hallway even more than the light coming from her room.

“Hi, Blackbird!” she chirped in her usual cheerful manner. “What’s up?”

Neira rolled her eyes, stepping out of the darkness and slipping past her to enter the room. She had to squint to adjust to its brightness.

"You're not asleep?" she asked, eyeing the books littering the bed. It seemed that her delightful sister was either studying spells or reading cheesy romance novels.

The book lying open on the pillow and depicting a kissing couple told her which one.

Imoen seemed to notice and shut the novel quickly before stuffing it under the pillow.

"I've had another nightmare," she whispered, smile vanishing like a blown-out candle. She tugged at the sleeve of her nightshirt, trying in vain to hide the scars. Neira could see the tip of a burn mark peeking out from beneath the pink fabric. "Reading helps."

It wasn't unusual for them to share dreams. It has happened before, though only when Imoen was locked away in Spellhold and Neira was desperately trying to figure out how to save her and how her half-divine powers worked.

"I've had one too," she replied, sitting down on the bed (respectfully away from the pillow and the trashy romance novel hidden beneath it.) 

"Irenicus for you too, eh?"

She chuckled mirthlessly. When was it not Irenicus?

Imoen sat down next to her, hand hovering over hers, voicelessly asking for permission.

Neira glanced at her and nodded, allowing Imoen's fingers to intertwine with hers and ignoring the sensation like maggots crawling under her skin. Imoen's comfort was more important than her touch aversion.

“I was back in the cage," she whispered, suddenly incapable of raising her voice past a whisper, "and he was casting some spells on me. It… the pain was so real, Im. Too real. It was as if I was still back there and everything that has happened; our escape, Spellhold, getting our souls back... has been nothing but a dream.” 

"It was the same for me," Imoen whispered back. "Did you come to make sure I'm still here?"

Neira nodded, feeling her sister's grip around her hand tighten noticeably. It was warm, nothing like the memory of Irenicus's freezing touch she still couldn't get rid of.

“I’m okay, Blackbird," Imoen tried to smile again, and Neira admired her tenacity. "We all are.”

“Kagain isn’t,” she muttered, the image of their friend's mangled corpse still vivid in her mind. Even though many a fool were brought to that state and worse by her hand, the image still made her shiver.

Imoen looked down at her pink slippers. “Kagain isn’t,” she echoed quietly.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in her own more or less gloomy thoughts.

Eventually, Neira spoke up, voicing the thought that still kept her awake at night months after their battle with Irenicus.

“Sorry it took me so long to save you."

Imoen glared at her. "Don't you start again."

"N-no," she toyed with the bird skull around her neck, not brave enough to look her sister in the eye. "I mean... We should have been quicker. We should have-"

“-gotten the money sooner, or just threatened that Bayle idiot into submission; then all this wouldn't have happened." Imoen gave her her trademark eye roll. "I know, you say that all the time. It doesn’t matter now, does it? You, Monty, Viconia, and Korgan (I guess) did your best.”

She held up her palm just as Neira was about to interject. “Don’t make me cast _Silence_ on you now!" 

Knowing that the threat was a real one, Neira obediently (though reluctantly) stayed quiet.

"You have to stop worrying about me. It’s touching, really, but it’s all behind us now, and no amount of what-ifs or overthinking will ever change the past.”

“But-”

“No buts! It’s all in the past. Sure, it still hurts and I wake up screaming sometimes, but it’s not something you can change, so stop trying to!"

"That's the problem, Im," Neira looked up at her helplessly, "I can't. You’re my sister and best friend; how can I not worry about you?”

Gods, she was pathetic as _fuck._

Imoen just smiled warmly, like a summer evening in Candlekeep; pink sunlight falling through the windows, illuminating cobwebs and dust and memories of a simpler time. 

"You're just one big softie under that rough exterior, aren't ya?" she chuckled, and Neira had to smile at that. Imoen was like a better version of her: happier, more colourful, less fucked up in the head...

Less of a monster.

"I am," she replied and then, much more quietly, added: "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Hug?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, is hand holding okay?"

She nodded.

"Neat," Imoen readjusted her position on the bed, pink (recently dyed) hair falling over her forehead and eyes as she did. She brushed it away. "You'd most likely be miserable as heck without my sunny personality to keep you from brooding day and night among piles upon piles of bones. Also, your heart would explode from caffeine overdose because I'm like the only one monitoring your coffee intake."

That's... yeah, that was pretty accurate, and Neira couldn't help but laugh.

"Besides, you cannot pick a lock to save your life."  
True again; she was never good at that sort of thing. Traps, sure, but locks? For some reason, she could never get the hang of it.

Another warm smile bloomed on Imoen's lips at the sound of her sister's laughter. "You know that I'll always be there for you."

"And vice versa," Neira squeezed her hand as if to prove it. "Shall I leave you to your shitty erotica?"

They were both laughing when Imoen kicked her out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Neira left Imoen's room sufficiently distracted for the time being and with enough secondhand goof to knock out a merry tune against Montaron's door.

"Whoever the fuck ye are and whatever ye want," a familiar voice called out from the other side, "you have my official permission to kindly fuck right off before I stick so many knives into ye that the sight'd make a hedgehog shit its pants."

Typical. "It's me, Monty. Blackbird."

There was a pause.

Then, a yawn.

Then, a mumbled "'kay, gimme a second."

Then, about five minutes of clinks and thwangs indicating that her halfling friend was busy disarming all the traps around the door.

Suddenly, there was a slightly louder clink, and quiet but painfully sincere "oh, _fuck you."_

Finally, the door opened, revealing Montaron glaring at his bleeding thumb with offended disapproval.

"Fucking spike trap," he muttered, stuffing his hand into his pocket. Neira noticed that he was still in full armour. "What can I do for ya, Blackbird?"

It seemed that she caught him right after one of his many nocturnal escapades.

"Good haul tonight?" she asked in lieu of replying.

"Broke into the Havenfern estate and took half of their shit," he grinned, pride dripping from his voice. "The guard dogs didn't even stir."

"Nice," she tried to smile back. "Look, I didn't come here to discuss loot. May I come in?"

He blinked. "Oh, sure. All the traps are disarmed so go ahead."

Stepping over two closed bear traps, she entered the room while he took off his cloak and threw it on the chair. Just like Viconia, Montaron didn't need light to move around, so all the candles have been left unlit.

She sat on the bed, gesturing for him to do the same.

"How are you holding up?"

He shrugged. "Tired as shit."

"No, I mean in general. After..." She didn't have to finish.

He spat on the floor, right into the middle of the closed bear trap peeking from under the bed. "Aye, I getcha. Fuck the dude. Me, I'm doin' fine, but the fact that yer here tells me that ye aren't."

An understatement of the fucking century, ladies and gentlemen.

"I'll be fine," ...probably. "How are the fingers?"

When Imoen broke her out of her cage, they had found Montaron sitting at the very back of his, hands shattered into a bloody mess incapable of moving, let alone holding a lockpick or a weapon. It took many spell slots and healing potions to make them resemble hands again, and even more to let Montaron use them comfortably.

He flexed his fingers, moonlight illuminating the scars that littered them.

"Good as new," he said with a touch of satisfaction. The heists were both a welcome distraction from nightmares and exercise to keep his thieving skills up to scratch; there was nothing Montaron hated more than being deprived of his abilities. "Now, about you."

They were much alike, Neira mused as she told him about her dream. Both were skilful rogues, merciless in battle; both found comfort in the darkness and both, she couldn't suppress a smile, were huge softies to those they cared about.

He was gritting his teeth by the time she was done, subconsciously reaching for one of the countless blades he carried on him.

"Dude's so fucking lucky he's dead," he drawled, his tiny body shaking with barely constrained bloodlust. Small, deadly, and disgustingly adorable. Kind of like a shrike, Neira mused, ignoring the impulse to ruffle his hair. Her precious stabby buddy.

"I'm glad that you're doing okay," she said, putting her hands in her pockets just in case her poor impulse control failed her after all.

Standing on his tip-toes, he reached to pat her on the shoulder comfortingly. She tried not to wince.

"Talk to me once you're ready, will ya?" he gave her a crooked but genuine smile. One of his teeth was missing, undoubtedly lost in a scuffle he got himself during one of his escapades. "Out of all the fuckers I've ever had to work with, I hate you the least - hit me up if you need anything."

Okay, that was touching as _fuck_ coming from an asshole like him. She ruffled his hair.

"I'll keep that in mind," she giggled, pulling her hand away just in time to avoid a playful swing of a blade. "Want me to help you re-set the traps?"

"Sure."

It took the two of them no time at all. Monty kept her mind occupied with tales from his nightly heists, undoubtedly embellished not once and not twice. After all, what noble keeps three manticores in his basement?

After exchanging their customary "Goodnight, loser" and "goodnight, bitch," Neira left him to catch a few hours of sleep before yet another day of fucking about and killing people. Still, she knew that he will end up looking like absolute shit in the morning, inhaling half of Bernard's coffee supply while she drank the other.

"It's like you two have a reverse drinking contest," Imoen told them once over pancakes. "The first one to wake up wins."

She chuckled, shutting the door quietly and letting the shadows embrace her again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's the chapter you've all* been waiting for!!!!!
> 
> *meaning the wonderful thirsty bastards in the BG Discord chat. I'm still floored by your positive feedback and would highkey take a bullet for any of you. Bless.

That left only one door, one person Neira needed to check up on before she could go back to sleep.

Xzar.

His door was at the very end of the corridor, specifically requested for maximum privacy. It wasn't especially far away, but the hallway seemed to warp and elongate as she walked.

The memory of seeing him in Spellhold, curled up in his cell and clutching his head in his hands, blind and deaf to the reality around him, still haunted her nightmares. She never asked what Irenicus and the so-called "specialists" did to him; not only because she didn't want to spark any painful memories, but also because she knew that finding out would mean another journey to the damned place just to burn it to the ground.

At last, after what felt like hours, she stood in front of his door and, heart pounding, knocked four times in a pattern she knew he would recognise.

Silence, then some shuffling. Then, a familiar voice, lilting with joy as it recited a poem they both knew.

 _"Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,"_ it declared, _"some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-"_

 _"-This it is and nothing more,"_ she finished as the door swung open, revealing her wonderful Destroyer looking down at her (tall bastard) with a grin she came to treasure more than anything in her life.

 _"Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,"_ he was fully clothed didn't seem like she woke him up. Were they all night owls? _"In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore."_

 _"Quoth the raven: Nevermore,"_ she cited back at him, not even attempting to hold back a smile. "Good evening, my Destroyer."

He took a step aside, letting her enter.

"Good evening, my Blackbird," he purred. "May I ask what brings you rapping and tapping at my chamber door?"

Her smile vanished. "But a nightmare, nothing more."

Xzar. Her wonderful, precious Xzar. He seemed... calmer than he was before  Irenicus, less prone to excited outbursts and things like chasing squirrels up trees to harvest their organs for his spells. She didn't know what exactly sparked the change, but it was grand enough for even her oblivious ass to take notice.

The look he gave her was one of concern, eyebrows knitting together as if she was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

"Irenicus has been plaguing you too, I see," he muttered, though she had no clue how he managed to guess the source of her distress. "I know you well, my Blackbird, like an open book with feathers stuck between the pages in lieu of bookmarks."

She rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her. "You never cease to surprise," she remarked with only mild sarcasm.

"Just like you," he led her to his desk, infinitely more organised than hers. There were candles there, which he extinguished with a wave of a hand. How thoughtful. "No matter how many times I read you, you always manage to amaze me with a new quirk or detail I wasn't aware of previously. But enough about this," he waved his hand again, dismissively, and set out to tidy the already orderly desk.

She half wanted to take him to her room and see what sense he'd make of the pile of papers and skulls on her desk.

"Tell me what rabbits are gnawing at your mind, my dear."

As she spoke, Neira found it a lot easier to open up than she did with her other companions. Maybe it was because Xzar's attention was partially engaged elsewhere, maybe because they understood each other so well, but words poured out of her mouth with little to no interference from her brain.

"I... We were back in the dungeon again. I was in the cage, or not. I'm not sure. I saw the bars around me but I was lying strapped to a table with Irenicus looming over me. First he..." she swallowed, "First he sliced into me, cut me open to view all my organs. I knew because there was a mirror. He... he wanted me to see it. Wanted me to look. Then, he cast some lightning spell and watched how my body reacted to the shocks." 

Xzar paused briefly, his grip on a handful of scrolls tightening ever so slightly.

"Stop anytime you wish," he said, returning to organising.

She nodded gratefully even though he couldn't see it.

"I need to get it out of me," she explained before taking a deep breath to compose herself. Some shadows wrapped around her shoulders reassuringly. "It's fine. You don't have to listen if you don't want to."

"I do, but only if you want to share."

He was lovely like that, ready to vivisect a hobgoblin to see how different it was from a goblin, but would never pry deeper than she allowed him to. She still wasn't sure what she did to deserve him, so she just focused on doing the same for him in hopes that it would keep him by her side.

Spirits lifted, she carried on: "He didn't even stitch me up after this. He just looked at my organs with a thoughtful expression. _Interesting,_ he said, sending out another shock. _You're a resilient one, godchild._ I don't know what he meant, all I could feel was pain and his cold hands all over me. I wanted to pass out so badly, but I think that he injected some sort of drug into me to keep me awake. Said that he wanted me to watch. To see what a fine specimen I was, what exactly made me so unique."

Fuck, she didn't like the way her voice was quivering or how her vision was beginning to blur. Father damn it, not now! "And then he..."

_Fuck._

No, saying it would shatter the dam, bring back his cold, emotionless expression as he... 

She took a deep breath, bracing herself like before pulling out an arrow out of a wound. Not saying it would leave it in her mind for gods knew where.

"Let's just say that I haven't bled for a bit over two years, and I strongly suspect that he's to blame." 

Xzar dropped the inkwell he was holding, the floorboards disappearing in a flood of black.

"I see," he said, waving a hand over the puddle to dissipate it. "You know, this information would have been extremely useful _before_ we killed him, as right now there is quite a number of things I would very much like to subject him to."

"Imoen said that he did the same to her."

"My statement stands true."

She wanted to laugh. It came out as a sob.

The sound made him glance in her direction, forehead creased with worry.

 _"Calm Emotions?"_ he offered.

She nodded. "Please."

Whoever invented that spell was a bloody genius. It was quite similar to Viconia's blessing, though Neira couldn't quite put her finger on what traits they shared - she was never good at magic. Whatever it was, though, it made the knot in her chest loosen a little and actually allowed her to take a full breath of air.  
"Thank you."

A smile, enhanced by his tattoos. "Anything for you."

She smiled back, wishing that she could do something to thank him properly. A touch, a hug, a kiss even, but her skin still crawled with Irenicus's touch.

"He didn't even stitch me up afterwards, just fed me enough healing potions to stop the bleeding. And then he just left, the fucker, saying something about other research he had to conduct. I don't know how long it took me to pass out, but it felt like years. Then I woke up."

Having it all out of her system filled her with... maybe not relief, but certainly exhaustion. She was so tired. So, so tired. Everything in her screamed for sleep.

Xzar finished cleaning and sat beside her on the bed - a respectable distance away, of course.

"Not in a touching mood, then?" It wasn't really a question.

She nodded.

"Me neither, to be honest, though I wouldn't mind throttling a certain mage with my own bare hands." 

"How sweet," she chuckled, eyes glued to his hands. Slender and dexterous, mildly calloused, devoid of tattoos, instead covered in an intricate web of scars she had replicated on Irenicus's face as he screamed for mercy. You wanted to feel things, you son of a bitch? Here's something for you to feel. "Say, how are you holding up?"

A shrug. "Sometimes better, sometimes worse. Mostly the latter nowadays." The dark circles under his wonderful, perfect green eyes told her as much. "I appreciate the concern, but wish not to discuss the matter further."

She didn't blame him. "All right. If you ever change your mind, I'll listen. If it helps, I mean..." A yawn interrupted her. "Say, I'm dying on my feet. Think your bed's big enough for the two of us?" It was a code phrase for them, and referred less to the size of the bed and more to the other's willingness to share it.

Xzar rubbed his chin in thought, gaze flickering briefly to the window.

"No touching?"

"No touching," she confirmed.

"That includes cold feet, you know."

That got a genuine laugh out of her. "Duly noted." 

"Then yes, I do believe it's big enough."

~~~

Morning found them both lying on the opposite sides of the bed, Neira staring intently at the labyrinth of scars all over his back, crossing and intertwining with his tattoos. Not all of them were from Irenicus; some were from battles, others from adventuring, and a couple from when her wonderful Destroyer thought that it would be a good idea to carry out the experiment he was in the middle of on himself. 

He allowed her to see them once (the tattoos, that is), trace her fingers over the curling lines and strange runes, eyes and tendrils of creatures unknown and unnameable even to the wisest of scholars.

"It's a precaution," he had told her. "A simple beast attacks upon seeing its reflection, seeing it as a potential foe. A wiser creature like this one recognises the power of its species and stays away."

"What is it?" she had asked, genuinely fascinated, wondering if the creature had a skull and how large it would be if it did. Those teeth had to grow from _somewhere,_ after all.

He had laughed then, shoulders shaking with glee. "Honestly? I have no idea!"

She smiled at the memory, comforted by the strange beast's unblinking gaze. There was a scar running through one of its eyes, a lightning bolt of white among a sea of black.

The shadows loomed over her, whispering in her ear.

_"Don't worry. Darkness consumes all, even the brightest of lights and the deepest of scars."_

_Darkness always looked after its own._

"Will you look after him too?" she asked the empty room.

A tendril brushed over his forehead tenderly. Lovingly. _"Always. You are the darkness, after all, the crownless queen reigning from the shadows. You belong to each other, in life and in death. We will keep him safe."_

Wait, she frowned. If she was the darkness, then...

"Are you me?" 

The shadows laughed in their hissing voices. _"We always were, are, and will be you."_

Was she still dreaming? Did it matter? Wait, what was that she smelled?

Was it...?

All thoughts left her mind, chased away by the glorious, wonderful smell of freshly made coffee.

She turned around carefully, as to not wake her bedmate, and was rather surprised to find three cups of still steaming coffee standing on the nightstand right in front of her nose.

There was also a note: _"I got up earlier to give you a head start over Monty. If any rabbits are still plaguing you after yesterday, I'll turn them into_ stew _and reanimate the bones to make them do a silly dance for you. Enjoy. -X"_

She still had no clue what she did to deserve him.

Sure, life was full of scars and various other unpleasantness...es. Was unpleasantnesses a word? Anyway, things could get nasty sometimes, but moments like this one, or like the one when she choked Irenicus with his own intestines, made the whole thing really worth living through.


End file.
